Reaching for a Dream
by Serendipithy
Summary: All the time in the world won't help her. (But she's so close.) Chihiro/Kohaku.


**Title:** Reaching for a Dream

 **Summary:** All the time in the world won't help her. (But she's so close.) Chihiro/Kohaku.

So it has come to my attention that I may need to remind readers about the tunnel/final test scene at the end of the movie. Look it up if you don't remember.

* * *

She's so close.

The end is but a few hundred meters today. The sound of her pants reverberate off the narrow tunnel, hands on her knees to support her upper body as she stops to take a break. Small beads of sweat slide down the sides of her forehead. She stares at her white sneakers and the stone floor as she catches her breath.

It isn't the first time this has happened. Something niggling in the back of her head—a memory or picture or feeling of _something_ —says the answer lies ahead. But while the blinding light shines brighter tonight than it has on any other (and _how does she know that?_ ), she doesn't know if she'll make it, if she'll finally have her answers. It's the same uncertainty that plagues her, the questions bouncing off the walls silently as the slapping of her shoes onto the floor echo all around her.

She starts up again, a desperate almost-crawl, half running for the end, where efficiency is all but lost. Her arms swing and dangle, and she almost trips. _How_ she trips on her own two feet is another question entirely. Her body's center of gravity lurches forward.

It is only when—panicking—she uses her right hand to grapple against the wall that the rumbling starts. She manages a breathless groan through the pants before sliding, boneless, down the side of the tunnel, right hand skimming smooth granite.

It is over, and she has lost.

Will she ever make it to the end of the tunnel?

It's the same question he asks himself every night too.

* * *

Her hands clench a combination of bedsheets and blankets as her eyes fly open. Narrowing her eyes into the darkness, there's a pause as she waits for her eyes to adjust. The darkness is permeated by only the slightest of sunlight peaking through black curtains.

He sees the rapid rise and fall of the blankets covering her chest, the repetitive action punctuated by heavy breathing. When she gets her bearings together and finds that all her mortal eyes can see is her unkempt room, her grip slowly loosens and her brows furrow in thought instead. Try as she might, everything has already been wiped before her body was even aware it was coming into consciousness. The spirits are thorough, shadows extending and retracting before human eyes can adjust to the darkness.

She looks over at her nightstand; the clock reads 6:21AM, eliciting a tired groan from her already parted lips. Throwing an arm over her eyes, her breath slows down as her body relaxes itself into the bedding once again.

If she wishes to return to the Before, it is too late; the end of the tunnel has already closed and no spirits will open the path again this morning.

It is done. He can't help but feel resigned to another bittersweet day of watching the agonizing hours pass, raising his hopes tick by tick.

* * *

There's an itch _in_ her head, the likes of which she can't seem to rid herself of. It sits somewhere in the back with the rest of the memories on her recent move, of lost friends and people, of familiar neighborhoods and parks, of shallow hills by the riverbank.

The riverbank. There's something important about it but all that comes to mind is drying mud and specks of dirt caking a newly built dam.

It could have been a dream. The vivid memories of something _different_ , as if it didn't belong in the world. Her mother always said dreams explored at night are normally forgotten by morning, and Chihiro thinks _isn't that the truth?_ The rush comes to her faster and faster now as she wakes up, disorienting her brain until thoughts and words scatter like leaves in the wind.

Nothing she can do about it though, she thinks, as she changes into her school uniform, toothbrush haphazardly sticking out of her mouth. She hops over the dirty but not-quite-ready-for-laundry pile next to her bed her on way to the bathroom, right arm sticking out as her other hand grabs the edge of the white, button-up shirt. The toothpaste slips past the gap between the toothbrush and her lips, slowly making its descent towards her chin. Grabbing the toothbrush, Chihiro yanks it out and spits into the sink, turning the water on and watching the white foam spin down the drain.

She can't help but admit to herself that the task of brushing teeth is menial yet the routine relaxes her as she makes her way downstairs. It is something she can expect to do when she wakes up, and something she will do when she is tired at the end of the day. It is something that goes on her mental checklist and essentially never changes. Her outfit varies depending on the day of the week, if she plans on leaving the house, or if the laundry has piled too high for her to continue procrastinating chores.

While breakfast gets old and repetitive—rice congee with bread or even the occasional okonomiyaki—the taste changes day by day. Sometimes there's too little water or salt, other days it's too much sauce. Chihiro expects today's breakfast to be no different.

Her mother is busy washing dishes. Her father sits in one of the three dining table chairs, left foot crossed over on top of his knee. He holds a newspaper out that covers his upper body, having scooted his chair farther back to avoid the folds of the newspaper taking up space on the already small eating area. His empty plate sits at the edge of the table, and both she and her mother know how long it will be before he brings it to the sink to be cleaned (if at all.) What confuses her, however, is the lack of a plate that is normally placed in front of the seat to his right.

The chair legs scrape against the floor and her mother looks up from the sink to give her an admonishing look, lips pursed into a frown. Huffing, Chihiro lifts the back of the seat with one arm so that the legs lift off of the ground and moves it back the rest of the way. No need to have her mother scolding her first thing in the morning.

But where is her breakfast?

"—neighbors came by this morning to say hello," Her mother is saying. "She brought us some food as a sort of welcoming gift! Isn't that sweet of her? I'll have to make something early tonight for them. Chihiro, could you bring it over to her when I finish? I'm hoping I can finish cooking it before they start dinner."

Chihiro nods to her mother. It isn't like she'll have friends to hang out with after class on her first day as a transfer student.

Satisfied, her mother grabs a hand towel to dry her hands before turning to the stove. A shallow pot is sitting on one of the burners, the small fire flickering out as her mother turns it off. Taking the pot off of the stove, her mother turns her back towards her and takes something out of the pot, placing it onto a plate no different from the empty, dirty one sitting in front of her father. It is only when the plate is placed in front of her that Chihiro finds out what was being heated in the pot.

A giant white steamed bun sits in the middle of the plate, its vapors floating in a slow, lazy path upwards in stark contrast with the chilly autumn air.

Its shape is so familiar it borders on painful. An intense hunger and urge to grab it, to take a bite out of it, and to just _cry_ comes out of nowhere. There is only hopelessness.

And then a flash of olive-green eyes is suddenly _right in front of her_ and she's _free_ and swimming in emotions and so relieved and happy and love—

Black fuzz censors her brain, sequences playing at an accelerated fast forward speed. It disorients her like black spots do to her vision when she stands too fast.

The fuzz balls dance and wiggle once, twice, and then everything goes dark.

* * *

"Chihiro, are you alright?"

"Honey, wake up!"

Chihiro is jerked so suddenly, the vertigo has her eyes flying open before she realizes how bright it is. Wincing at the light, she squints as one hand goes up to soothe the pain in her eyes and the slight ache coming from her head.

"Goodness, falling asleep at breakfast! At least take a bite of your food before leaving," Her mother scolds, removing the hand on her shoulder. "I'll go brew some tea for you to drink on your way to class."

Once she takes a slow bite of the bun, her mother returns to the stove and puts a kettle on the stovetop. After glancing at her, her father's concern is also alleviated, and he flips to the next page of the newspaper.

Chihiro sits at the table, physically present but mentally, everything is blank.

Her body is telling her nothing else matters, a feeling of apathy overcoming her as she continues to stare at her half-eaten bun, but she doesn't know why.

* * *

Her day was exhausting, as first days have always been. It was made even more so with a new environment, a difference she will have to get used to or else struggle with forever. There is no other way but forward now.

Her tense shoulders sag a little while she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas.

As soon as her head hits the pillow, Chihiro is out like a light.

* * *

She's at the edge of the tunnel.

Behind her, the light filters into the narrow pathway in invitation. Her feet twitch, itching to run down the pathway instead.

It isn't the first time this has happened, and something niggling in the back of her head says the answer lies ahead. _Like brushing your teeth_ , she thinks, a wry smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

The only way to find out for sure though, is to run forward.

* * *

The spirits are thorough.

Kohaku knows it.

All the time in the world won't help her, but it doesn't stop him from praying.

(But who can he pray to except for the spirits?)

* * *

 **A/N:** For those of you who don't know, okonomiyaki is a Japanese pancake/omelette and can also be referred to as "Japanese pizza" or "Osaka soul food" (credit: Wikipedia). Never thought I would write a _Spirited Away_ fanfic… yet here I am, ten years late.

 _Very_ loosely inspired by /r/WritingPrompts. The prompt started like this: "A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the 'Library of all Books'. In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning…"

Let me know what you think!


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